This goes without saying that this is entirely a fix-it fic and fuck the canon.

I tried to get her back.

It's the hardest thing, waiting in the shadows, listening to them argue about who gets to die - who kills themselves for the cause.

It was supposed to be me.

He flinches at the explosion, hears Clint's bow clatter against the stone, the footsteps quickening. Natasha's shout and he dares to look out from behind the rock and his heart plummets as she disappears over the edge.

It's hard, but he hears them arguing, still, dangling over the precipice.

"Damn you!"

"Let me go."

"No. Please don't."

"It's okay."

And Clint's anguished cry tells him everything the blinding flash of light doesn't, that Natasha's gone, she's not coming back, it's irreversible.

She's not coming back.

Steve's had some bad hands dealt to him over his life. Parents gone too soon. Crappy health. Denied the chance to do some good again and again, until someone took a chance on a scrawny kid who couldn't breathe right most days. Then denied the chance some more, put on tour like a circus monkey, a slap in the face.

Losing Bucky. Losing Peggy.

He's not losing Natasha too.

He's lost seventy years but gained seven - seven not so bad ones, with her at his side with her quiet jokes and her own persistent pursuance of truth and justice. She'd been the one to pull him back together after the Snap, after they'd killed Thanos, pulling every trick in the book to keep whoever was left in the loop and doing whatever they needed to keep the entire universe from imploding on itself from the genocide. She'd pushed him into helping others, knowing he'd understand more than anyone else how difficult it was to move on from a horrifying change in your life.

He'd pushed her to sleep a little more, to let Danvers and Okoye run their recon and let Rhodey follow up on leads.

He doesn't remember who'd pushed whom into bed first, but they found comfort in one another for that first year or so, before finally admitting there was something more, something that had been simmering in the background since the start.

He'd found Bucky. He'd found Peggy.

He'd be damned if he wasn't going to find Natasha too.

Maybe you ought to go talk to him!

The spectre lingers near the edge, the hood keeping its face in shadow as Steve steps into the light. The case feels light in his hand, as if the item it contains knows it's home and is trying to fly out; he'd left Mjolnir left in its own time on Asgard, the other stones back in their respective homes. The Soul Stone is the last to return and he's got all the time in the world to barter for Natasha's life.

"Steven, son of Sarah."

He knows that voice.

Red Skull looks on with the same indifference he remembers from eighty years before; nothing surprises him anymore, not the least the appearance of his old enemy from halfway across the universe and a lifetime ago. He steps forward, opening the case as he goes. "The stone you seek is no more," Red Skull intones.

Steve lifts up the Soul Stone. "Returning it, actually."

For a moment, Red Skull actually looks surprised, then confused. "Why? The price has been paid, the conditions met."

"About that," Steve says. "You said the conditions were a soul for a soul." He held out the stone, settling his stance and meeting the spectre's gaze squarely. "So I offer it back, to cut out the alternate reality this made, in exchange for a soul."

Red Skull grimaces, stepping back into shadow. "Once the exchange has been made, it cannot be undone."

"Says who?"

"The stone."

"Bullshit."

The inhuman face floats just inches from his own now, eyes piercing into his own. Steve's hand closes over the stone, clenching into a fist. "You are condemning me, boy, to a curse that will last infinitely. Returning the stone will not bring her back. Returning the stone will only trap me here until the next wandering soul comes to try and claim it, only to fail yet again."

The stone feels warm in his hand. "I can't say I care too much about condemning you. I thought that had been taken care of already, but I'll gladly do it again after everything you did. But the fact remains - the conditions for the stone are a soul for a soul. I very much doubt that whoever created the stones thought that someone would go to all the trouble of returning them moments after they were taken. Her body's not even cold."

He takes a step forward, the stones beneath his feet trembling as the clouds overhead rumble. "So I say again. A soul for a soul." He holds out the stone, its light piercing as it hovers over his palm.

"Give her back to me."

"A soul for a soul."

The whisper calls to mind the roar of a waterfall and the slithering of snakes over fallen leaves, the cold of space and the blaze of a volcano. It is all and it is nothing as light streaks down from the heavens and encases the rock pillars around them. The warmth in his hand increases to a burn and power pulses from the stone, pushing him back and blinding him all at once-

Until there is darkness.

Clint, where's Nat?

His heartbeat sounds oddly loud in his ears and his body aches. It takes him a moment to register that he's laying in a pool of water, that being partially submerged is why his heart beats so loudly, that his body aches from being exposed to the power of an Infinity Stone.

But there is a weight on his chest.

He sits up carefully, aware that she's been through a trauma and might not be fully awake or okay just yet. He holds her, using the water and his hands to clean her face of blood and checking her for a source or further injury, listening to her steady breathing and praying to whatever was listening that this wasn't some kind of monkey's paw - that she'd returned and she'd be herself and not some facsimile of Natasha Romanoff.

He hadn't listed any conditions. He probably should have listed some conditions.

A soul for a soul.

She opens her eyes. Green, clear, confused, darting this way and that as she draws a shaky breath and tries to sit up on her own. "How-?"

"We won," he tells her. It's not the first thing he wanted to say, and it's not even the second thing he thought he should say, but she's looking around like everything has gone wrong but he just needs to tell her the most important parts, that everything's changed and a lot of it did go wrong, but they got the job done.

They won. That's all that matters, now.

She's waiting for him down the street, lurking in the shadow of a tree and ignoring the scandalized looks from passersby. "She took it well?" she asks, holding out her hand for him to take.

"She understood, as much as I could explain it anyway. She's married, anyway. Good guy, loves her for who she is." Steve pauses, glancing over his shoulder. "I can't say it didn't tempt me to stay," he admits quietly, knowing she's done and forgiven him for worse.

Natasha steps in front of him and he takes a handkerchief from his pocket - an old habit, sure, but it comes in handy now when he wants to wipe away another streak of blood left maring her skin. Her eyes are sad but there's a smile on her lips. "You love her," she said, catching his hand with hers before he can pull away.

"And part of me always will," he says. "She loved me before I became... this. But she's in the past-my past. I found you. You never gave up on me, not in the beginning and not through all those years on the run and trying to figure out life after Thanos. You reminded me that I wasn't always Captain America, that I was still Steve Rogers. You helped me remember why I signed up for this, why we kept going after SHIELD, after the Snap."

She's shaking her head. "Only because I couldn't stand seeing you break. You needed something to believe in, a reason to keep fighting and stay sane. I took over the insane stuff so you didn't have to."

"I believe in you, Natasha."

His lips find hers, soft but with feeling, pouring everything he couldn't find the words to say into a simple gesture. She presses her forehead against his and he feels dampness against his cheek. "You found me," she whispers.

"I didn't know what I would do if I lost you."

They remain that way for another moment before she pulls back first, sniffling and swiping at her cheeks with the heel of her hand. "Well. Where do we go now, Cap?"

He smiles, tugging her hand and leading her down the street. He's still got a few vials of Pym particles, he knows their quantum GPS's are still sync'd to the new portal in 2023, but he's not in any particular hurry to go anywhere. "I know a good place we can go and get some milkshakes," he says. "Best in Brooklyn, hand to God."

They've got all the time in the world, after all.